


Wing

by CloudDreamer



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, F/F, Just Set Somewhere Else, Misgendering, Narrowly Disguised Salvation Army, Now you're thinking with portals, Odds of this getting finished are low, POV Second Person, Supervillains Say Trans Rights Baby, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21726250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudDreamer/pseuds/CloudDreamer
Summary: A story about a girl.Inspired by a joke.Title changed to fit naming conventions.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	1. Shell 1.1

You sit on the edge of the stairs, too close to falling, a cold drink you’d stolen sitting by your side. You hide your face beneath waves of hair and an extra sized hoodie. You’d climbed up the side of a building, peeking through the window, and left your first portal beneath the whole wrack of hoodies and the second one in the parking lot, where you’d been climbing up from. They hadn’t had many options left, and it was either something too big or too small. 

So much of what you have with you is stolen. Right after it’d happened, you couldn’t take going into a store, hearing all the whispers or being “mister’ed,” and you were hungry, so you’d tried just once. Putting one end of the portal beneath freshly baked bread, the other above your outstretched hands. It’d tasted so good. You tried leaving the little cash you had with you in its place. Enough to cover it, you were pretty sure, but they still called the PRT once they saw it. You shouldn’t have hung around. Then the local hero, who’d just so happened to be nearby, wouldn’t have seen you. Wouldn’t have dubbed you a villain, even though you hadn’t even really stolen anything, and it was just bread. 

And now you’ve stopped paying for stuff. Now you’re officially one of the bad guys. It’s kinda funny, how that goes. Really easy too. The guy was a tool. Overzealous. You dig your knees further to your chest. Maybe he was just having a hard day. You don’t have a name yet. Not a girl’s name. Not a hero name. The old one doesn’t fit. Fits worse than this hoodie. It’s not too big, it’s too tight. It restricts you, like jeans do. 

“Hey, there,” someone you didn’t hear coming says, and you don’t turn. Your shoulders rise, tighter. Smaller. They couldn’t be talking to you. Who is it? “Kid in the hoodie.”

You put your face in your knees and put the first portal on your clothes. The other, you put right behind where you think the voice is coming from. 

His voice drops, as if he knows you’ll be able to hear him better. 

“Cape there.” 

You push yourself back onto the steps, the portal coming with you. Stuck to your knees. 

“You can’t be here.”

You want to stand up. You want to run. You’ve been seen. “Why not?” you whisper. 

“You can’t be here for free,” he clarifies. “This is Tertio’s territory.” 

“I don’t know who that is.” 

“Rather irresponsible of you. What sort of villain are you, Mr. Thief?” 

“Not a mister.” 

He pauses. You get a look of him. He wears plain clothes, as expected of a man in his late twenties. A little neater then would be expected, maybe. His back is straight, and he walks. He doesn’t turn to look at the portal. Most people who aren’t you can’t tell its there. He can.

“Apologies. Do you have a preferred name?” 

“I’m just a newly hatched egg,” you say, some humor in your tone, but your voice is soft enough that he must not pick up on it. Maybe he doesn’t get the reference. You don’t protest the label of villain. You don’t think someone who sees your portals is someone you want to argue with. Someone who notices you. He could call that hero on you. 

“Very well, Egg.”

“What do you want?” 

“My employer would like recompense for stolen goods, and the expenses involved in tracking you down.”

“Tertio?” 

“Yes.” You study your finger nails. 

“It would be in your best interests to comply.” 

“Threats.” You’re not fond of him. 

“I don’t like threats.”

“I’m just the messenger.”

You move the portal to see him better. You think he’s Hispanic, but you wouldn’t stake money on it, if you had any. Black hair is combed back. Dress shirt, khakis. He follows the movement of the portal with his eyes and turns to look at where you are, across the plaza. People around him, who only heard his half of the conversation, move away. If you could shrink further, you would. 

He walks towards you, and you move the first portal in front of him, the second one a block away. He stops before crossing into it. 

“My name is Trace, and I’m a private eye of sorts.” He smiles, like he’s said something funny. You scowl. You find more parts of your body to shrink. “You have two options. Coming with me and having a civil conversation with Tertio or forcing one of his loyal lieutenants to come after you and having a _less_ civil conversation.”

“Third option. I leave.” 

“Two options. I would prefer the former, as I’m not a fan of allowing young ones to come to harm, but I get paid either way.” 

“Not that young.” 

Trace steps through the portal. The people who were stepping away slowly hurry now. You move the first portal to the sky, as a warning and a way to keep people out of it.

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” he says. 

“You don’t know me.” 

“I’ve seen enough new capes. You’re in out of your depth, and by hurting me, you’d be making enemies. Enemies you know nothing about.”

You nod. You watched the news. Or, you failed to avoid the news. Villains were scary, and they had friends. They had rules and codes. You’d figured you’d learn all this stuff the hard way. You’d just hoped it’d take some time to catch up with you. He was right about the hurting. It's not that you don't think you'd use violence. It's just that you're not ready for it yet. You're not angry enough.

“I’m going to finish my drink,” you say, and the portals wink out. "Then I'll come with you." 

“Your drink?” He raises an eyebrow, before taking a seat next to you. 

“Mine now, anyway.”


	2. Shell 1.2

It’s early evening by the time Trace stops walking, suddenly. In front of a bar. You read the sign. The Triumvirate. The villains must have a sense of humor.

“I’m not twenty one,” you say. He smiles at you, and you take a step back. You’re not fond of the overconfident act. If it’s an act. 

“I wouldn’t worry, Egg. These people don’t make such a fuss about rules.” 

You don’t answer. Instead, you wait for him to open the door. He waits too. 

“Door,” you say, eventually. He pulls it open.

“Ladies first?” It’s a question this time. You nod, though you’re not sure lady is the right word. It has connotations of gentleness. Of following rules and nobility. You’re not particularly noble. You’re here, with a scoundrel like him, after all. It’s better than mister, though. 

A few people sit at the bar, drinking what must be alcohol, and a few sit at tables. They look at you, then at Trace. Some of them have those straightened backs and confident smiles that make you think _cape_ , but they’re the ones standing at the edge of the room. When they have drinks, they don’t look alcoholic. He puts a hand on your shoulder, and you open the first portal on your hoodie, where his fingers hold you too tight, leaving the second on the ground right where someone is about to put their foot down. He pulls away. 

“Trace,” says a man leaning against the bar. The bartender looks from the man to Trace to you. Her blonde hair is tied back in a pony tail and she wears glasses. She looks tired. Dark circles under her eyes. “Is this our troublemaker?” 

“My name’s Egg,” you say, moving the first portal next to him and the second one near your mouth before Trace can start talking for you. You hate people talking for you, especially when you’re right here. 

“Didn’t mean to make trouble.”

“Let’s take this upstairs.”

“I’ll take my payment and leave, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“Boneraiser,” the man you assume is Tertio says. The girl steps out from behind the bar. The murmur of conversation between what you thought were normal customers doesn’t stop or even slow at the villain’s approach. She steps across the floor, making little noise as she does, and hands Trace an envelope. He opens it and counts bills. Hundred dollar bills. A lot of them. You clench your teeth.

“It’s all there,” Boneraiser remarks, her teeth barred. They don’t seem to be the right shape, but you can’t put your finger on how they’re wrong. Her voice is almost a growl. Not the best look for customer service. Her nails are jagged. 

“I’m just checking. See you around, Egg,” Trace says, giving you a little wave that you think he thinks is cute, and he leaves, the door slamming behind him. 

“Upstairs?” Tertio says, gesturing to a door. He’s big. Not the tallest in the room, but big. You see the edge of a tattoo, creeping out behind both his gray t shirt and black long sleeve shirt. On his heart. Maybe the top of a three? No logos. No costumes. Is it a good sign Trace brought you to them as informal as they are? A bad one? Maybe they’re always like this. 

You open the first portal next to him, the second next to you, and you step through. Right beside him.

He steps in front of you, putting his hands up. Then another him does the same, transparent. Then another him does the same. You reach out to touch the third one. Feels solid. 

“Stop with the powers until I say it’s okay, got it?” 

“Okay.” 

You put the portals in both your pockets instead, fidgeting through it. Thinking this way’s hard. Considering them. 

He opens the door and the stairs behind them are narrow and tall. It makes you claustrophobic. You push against the walls, one hand on each, testing them. He heads up and is almost all the way there when he sees you hesitating. 

“Movers,” he says, and it’s an insult, based on the tone. 

“I don’t know what that means,” you reply, though you think you’ve heard cape geeks say it before. “Just get up here.” You test the ground and follow him. After a bit, some of the other people you pegged as capes follow you up. People behind you. Tertio ahead. Walls closing in. 

By the time you get to the top, you’re dizzy. Your chest is tight. They’re looking at you, at all your sharp edges and lines… 

You stumble out at the top and focus on the room. There aren’t any windows. You wish there are windows. Maybe you should’ve run. There are couches with black leather and one lone chair. It’s a bit fancier, with threes carved into it. Tacky? Maybe. There are news reports pinned up on the walls. Rival gangs arrested or disbanded or driven away from the territory. Lots of names you don’t recognize. Some you do. There are pictures of Tertio in a gray and dark red costume, Boneraiser in a white and gray one. Blurry pictures. There’s a couple of files on a dark wood desk, behind the fancy chair. Tertio takes a seat in that chair. 

Boneraiser sits down to his right. An older woman sits next to her. She’s not ancient, but you can see the beginning of gray in her hair. You don’t know much about capes, but you think someone being old is a sign that she’s powerful. She has a black cloak on, like she wears in the pictures of the group in their costumes. A boy, who you aren’t sure should be in a bar, sits to Tertio’s left. He wears a baseball hat on backwards. His clothes are fashionable, you think. You look to the empty spot on Tertio’s left, corresponding to where the older woman sits. 

“Trace says you’re a new cape, that you don’t know the unspoken rules,” Tertio says when they’re settled in, and you stand there, unsure of yourself. It takes you a moment to realize he wants a response. 

“Yeah.”

“How much do you know about capes?” 

You raise a finger each time you add something new. 

“Protectorate and Wards are supposed to be good, villains are supposed to be bad, Endbringers and S9 and a couple others are definitely bad, Psion is definitely good. Stay out of capes way if possible. Let them do their thing.” 

“And you didn’t do any research after your trigger?” 

You cock your head.

“You got powers after something really shitty happened to you, right?” 

Ah. That explains that.

“It’s called a trigger event. What are they teaching kids in schools these days?”

“Not much of a student.” 

”Well, I’m not much of a teacher, so listen up. If you want to steal shit in another cape’s territory, you pay a mutually agreed amount up front and usually a cut of what you earn.” 

“Didn’t earn anything.” 

“And the fees of dealing with you, if you’re a difficult customer. I paid Trace ten thousand to find you. I’ll need that back, and about twice as much as you stole from the shops. With interest. That adds up to about twelve thousand.” 

“I don’t have any money.” 

He sighs, exasperated. You shift from foot to foot.

“He? No, she’s not lying,” the boy says. “Sorry.”

What for? 

It takes you a moment to process that they meant the misgendering. You didn’t expect anyone to apologize. You shrug. You don’t look like what you are. Girl. Villain. You guess at the second one. You have no interest in heroics. Not like this. Not when that meant going to the people who would look at your files. You could be anything. 

You’re an egg, just beginning to crack. Just beginning to see the world. You don’t want to be defined by your past. 

“I can’t pay right now. But… I think this is a good power?” 

“It is.”

“I could work for you for a little bit.”

“I don’t have an opening. We’ve got a good dynamic going on and adding in a newbie? No.” You open the second portal near your ear and use the first one, still in your pocket, to tug at your hair. You don’t really know what else to offer. “But I know someone who’s getting a team together. Willing to pay the recruiter too.” 

“Will it be enough?” You probably should ask what sort of team it was. About morals. You don’t think you’d be okay with killing people, especially not innocent people. But you don’t really want to make an enemy of the people in front of you. Wherever this was, whoever it was, you’d figure out the situation then. 

“Depends on what they think of your power there. Depends on what they think of _you._ ”

“I won’t disappoint.”


	3. Shell 1.3

Tertio sent Boneraiser to accompany you and left a non-powered man in charge of the bar. It wasn’t much of an issue, so you assume this is something that happens frequently. Members of the group being sent on tasks, leaving their home base with more normal people watching it. 

Normal people. 

You push your face up against the car window, trying to catch a view of as many people as possible. You’re not a normal person now. You see so many open spaces where you could reach through. So many exposed wallets. You almost want to take them, even knowing that the cape in the seat next to you is watching you. You don’t think you could make that much money from taking random wallets anyway. The driver’s not got any powers either. At least, you don’t think he does. It’d be a good trick, if he did. 

“You never hear anythin’ about capes bringing guns to fights and more often than not, we keep civies outta the way of the real fights. Family’s off limits too, and we put aside our differences for the S Class threats or we get outta the way. Those who don’t tend to get targeted by the rest. Man, it’s weird speaking all this unspoken shit.” 

“Nobody’s written it up?” you ask. It took you a while to get her to explain. Something about tradition. You think tradition is stupid and adjust the fabric around your chest. They let you keep it, even though it was stolen. You don’t know what to think about that. 

“Dunno. I’m no expert.” 

“So people agree on this?” 

“Not everyone likes it. I’ve delt with a couple of rough customers myself.” She tugs up the side of her shirt, and you see a mess of a scar. You think maybe bullet, but you don’t have the experience to say for sure. She did say no guns was one of the rules. “Oh, killing. Yeah, most people try to stay away from it. Not as much a ‘everyone will team up on you’ as much as it is a ‘deal with their pissed off friends.’ Capes get nasty for revenge.” 

You shiver, thinking of all the bad things that could happen. It’s a hot summer night, and if you were outside, you’d be sweating, but you’ve got a chill. You’ve always got a chill. 

“What if it’s an accident?” You think of how you considered dropping Trace through a portal earlier. You don’t think you would know how high to put your second portal from.

“If you’re lucky, you get a secondary power. Something gives you enough awareness to stop at that point. If you’re not?” She smiles at you, and you think she’s missing teeth. “You get real good at putting the blame on someone else.” 

“Have you killed people?” 

She closes her mouth suddenly. 

“That’s a rude question.” 

“You were insinuating…” 

“Shut it, Egg.” You narrow your eyes, but you don’t push. Boneraiser. It’s a name that makes you think of skeletons. Of dinosaurs in museums, coming to life, like in an old movie. Not that you ever actually watched that many movies. More like… you read about people watching them.. So you think certain thoughts, because you’re supposed to. 

The two of you are quiet for a little bit. 

“What does mover mean?” She looks at you with a bit of surprise, then maybe a bit of judgement. Like she can’t believe you don’t know it already. 

“PRT Classifications. You _do_ know what the PRT is, right?” 

“Police for capes.” 

“You’re a mover. Maybe stranger too. Movers move shit around. People. Themselves. Always antsy, hate being stuck in one place, tight spaces. Y’know. Strangers are sneaky bitches, they get in places they’re not supposed to. They like to hide, like you’re doing in that hoodie of yours. Jeez, kid.” 

“And you?” 

“Master, Striker. Minions and touch. I can touch you and tear the bones outta your body, make them into pets. Works better with skeletons, but it won’t kill you if I take a rib or two.” She winks. It’s a morbid thought to imagine, and you look at her ears. There are origami crane shaped earrings there, but they aren’t suspended by any chain. And they’re made of something white. They swing back and forth with Boneraiser’s head movements, even without the chains. 

She’s right about you hiding in the hoodie, which makes you want to rebel and prove her wrong. You don’t. You’d rather be predictable than visible. She’s right about the trapped thing too. You were pushing the buttons for the windows open and closed before she told you to stop. Too much energy for one small car. Too much energy for one small body. 

The silence is unbearable. You want nothing more than something simple, like peace and solitude, but her body screams conflict. Energy, bottled up inside, ready for a fight. It’s contagious. You twitch, a need to _move_ you’ve felt since that day, insatiable. 

Despite your fear of her, you talk again. 

“Any advice?” 

“On what?" 

“Being a cape.” You don’t say being a villain even though it was what you were thinking. Not there yet. 

The lines on her face deepen, and you think you see the exhaustion in her eyes, not just in the lines beneath them. She doesn’t fold into herself as physically as you do, but her voice is more distant, harder to understand through the distortions that something about her power must cause.

“Find teammates you can trust with more than your life. Then don’t let them go.” 

The words are out of your mouth before you consider if they’re appropriate:

“Is Tertio’s group that to you?”

“Damn, you are nosy, Egg-o.”

“It’s just Egg,” you hiss, and you’re surprised at the venom. You didn’t pick it out entirely as much as you did make a joke at a weird time. Now you’re possessive of something that’s not really yours? It... feels right. The name settles into place around you like a familiar blanket. Something you’d lost, or maybe something you never had. Identity.

“Kay,” she says, too casual. It itches at you, just a little. 

You keep your thoughts to yourself until you’re there.

—

The car pulls to a stop.

“Do you know why this team is getting together?”

“And it takes her three hours to get to the point,” Boneraiser whistles, and you look down. Embarrassed? “They didn't give specifics, but it's something big, given that we’re getting paid a hefty fee for even lookin into it. The finder's fee itself? Damn.”

“Enough to pay Trace?”

“More than that.”

The driver gets out of the car and opens the sides for the two of you. Boneraiser steps out before you can. Before you can consider it.

“Hey, Boneraiser,” someone on the outside says. 

“Hey, Heavensent,” she replies, a bit surprised. You croon your head away and use your portals to get a view of the world outside. The one who spoke— Heavensent— is wearing something much more like a costume than Tirtio’s gang’s casual outfits. 

She has a mask, reminiscent of something Venetian, with a pale white feather at the corner of her left eye, and the pale colors stand out against her dark brown skin. Her white shirt is padded with something that has to be armor and a red bra strap sticks out on her right shoulder. She wears lacy gloves all the way up to her elbow, and a couple of belts that seem too complicated to be easy to wear. Her pants are wide, tucked into her tall boots. 

Heavensent stands outside a door in an out of the way alley. There aren’t any windows, so you can’t get a view inside. No names either. Nothing tongue in cheek, like The Triumvirate. 

“Tirtio didn’t say you were behind this little plan. Unless you’re just part of someone else’s job?” 

“No, this is mine. And I did not tell him. Didn’t know you were still with him.” 

“I am,” she says, moving to stand near the other villain. 

“You moving or?” 

“Nah. This is Egg.” You wave from inside the car before adjusting yourself so dropping through a portal doesn’t leave you falling on your ass. Then you go through.

“Greetings, Egg. I’m Heavensent.” Her voice is sing song-y, and you aren’t sure if it gets on your nerves or if you like it. It’s unusual, in a different way from Boneraiser’s creaky tone. 

“I heard.” 

“She’s new, but she’s powerful.” 

“I have two portals. I can put them anywhere I can see and look through them and use them. Only I can see them. Except Trace.”

“Florida based mercenary. Tracks powers. Real useful to have around,” Boneraiser clarifies.

“How new?” 

“Eleven days,” you add when you realize she’s talking to you again.

“That is new. I have been a cape for three years,” Heavensent responds.

“Two years over here,” Boneraiser says. “Heavensent and I worked a couple of jobs together. She’s good at what she does.”

“Do you trust _her_?” you ask. 

“You’ve really focused on that one thing, huh.” “You never elaborated.” 

“I trust her skills. I trust that she protects her friends. I don’t trust that I’m one of those friends.” Boneraiser crosses her arms and glowers at you. You nod, appreciating the information, even if she didn’t answer the first follow up question. The one about her real teammates. “Who else do you have?” 

“That’s no longer your concern. No offense intended.” 

“None taken. You’ll pay?” 

“Yeah. Good to see you, Boneraiser. Nice to meet you, Egg.” 

Boneraiser gets back in the car while Heavensent offers you a hand. You look at it with suspicion. 

“I don’t need to touch you to use my power,” she says. 

You still just look at it.

“Shy?” 

You shrug, deliberately tucking your hands in your pockets. She drops the issue. 

“Come inside. You can meet the rest of the team while I pay Boneraiser.” 

She pulls open the door, and you step through. The inside isn’t as broken as the outside looks. The wallpaper has to be recently applied, because there’s barely any dirt. White roses on a cream background. The ground is stone. Beside the exit are two suits of armor. You use portals to examine them closer, touching them. 

There is a white and gold chandelier in the hallway and two doorways to the right. Straight ahead is a staircase. Elaborate and sloping. Fancy. Made of dark wood.

There are some strange sections. Part of the ground covered in what looks like confetti instead of the furniture you assume should be there, based on the indents.

Heavensent had picked up a phone, but she sighs, distracted, when she sees the piles of confetti. 

“God fucking damnit, Camille.” 

The swearing doesn’t fit her image, and the corresponding momentary lapse in her posture passes so quickly that you think you might’ve imagined it. At least, until the other girl pokes her head out from upstairs. 

“Suck my dick. That thing looked like shit, and I was doing you a favor by getting rid of it.”

“It was _expensive_.”

“I can make actual fucking gold, and you’re worried about cash?” 

“Even if word does not get out, we will eventually oversaturate the market.” 

“Then I’ll make some diamonds or whatever. Or, fuck, just make whatever you wanted in the first place. Jesus Christ, you’re a pain in the ass.” 

“Put it back.” 

“Dee ate the confetti I turned it into. Unless you want to drag a block of something there, you can’t get me to fix it.” 

The girl— Camille— wears an eyepatch on her left side, and you can see burn scars around the edges. Her clothes are garnish. Her t-shirt is bright yellow with a logo, and her skirt is checkered black and white. She wears black glasses, and her hair is dyed a similar shade of yellow on one side. On the other, it’s what is probably her natural hair color. Indian, you think, but you know that’s not very specific. 

“Egg, do you mind finding something that would approximately fit where my cabinet used to be?” 

“Where?” 

“Camille’s room is the first door to the right upstairs. You can take it from her room.” 

“Oh god, you know I’ll just make whatever you take again? Trying to discipline someone who can make this whole house turn to confetti without any effort by taking away their _stuff_ is a shitty idea. Oh, hey, babe.” 

Camille’s switch in attention catches you off guard as you’re studying her hands. The way she holds so tight to the railing with one and puts the other on the wall so deliberately. 

“Hi. I’m Egg. I’m new.” 

“Mover? Brute?” 

“Mover. Also Stranger. Also not sure what Brute means.” 

“Babe, think about what words mean for a second.” 

You look from Camille to Heavensent, who is shaking her head. She hasn’t demonstrated her powers yet, you note, and the name is unspecific. Can she fly with angel wings? Can she smite people with the wrath of capital-g God? You really don’t know where to begin. 

“Strong?” 

“Yeah. Or tough. Or regenerating. Basically, a bitch to deal with. You really are new.” 

“Like I said. Are you?” 

“Couple of months. Dealt with the cops yelling at me for “stealing” garbage long enough that anywhere without them sounds great. Also, so not interested in being here for the apocalypse, whoop de doo.” 

“Camille, I have not explained our goal and I am unaware of Egg’s level of awareness regarding certain foretold events.” 

“Oh. Sorry, babe. Kinda heavy.” 

“I’m a girl,” you say, shifting your weight from foot to foot. 

“All the better,” Camille winks at you, before she turns away, her skirt flaring. Your face flushes. Her skin is so exposed. She doesn’t have any shoes on, but by looking at the rack near the door, you guess hers are the fancy looking sneakers. Seven pairs over all, but some look like they belong to the same person, like the white sandals. You pull at your hoodie’s drawstrings. 

“Take your shoes off before you go any further,” Heavensent instructs you, and she unlaces her own boots. When she leans too much one way, one of the suits of armor puts their hand out and steadies her. 

Startled, you leap into your first portal, the second at the top of the staircase. Camille, who wasn’t entirely back in her room, shoves her hand to the wall, and it thins out, the material directed into a spike right at you. You switch the second portal to right in front of you and the other side of the spike slams through, breaking the wall— no, merging with it. 

“You new capes are so jumpy,” someone else remarks, down the hall from where Camille was. You can’t place them. Not as a girl. Not as a boy. You didn’t know that was something that someone could be. Their hair is spikey and two horns rise up from their skull. You’re so unsettled that you assume they must be one of the monsters you couldn’t keep from hearing about, the ones with powers that make them look weird, before you notice that it’s just a headband. A good one. “Camille, you need to stop breaking the house." 

"You need to stop getting on my dick." Her voice is a little too high. 

Just a headband. Are you seeing things? Are you crazy? You tug at your hair and close the portals. The parts of the wall— no longer painted no evenly— that she’d thinned out into spikes are metal. The end that didn’t connect to any other matter clatters to the ground, and Camille swears again. She swears a lot, actually.

You look down to Heavensent for direction. 

“Take your shoes off before you go any further, then fix it,” Heavensent says, a little exasperated but not surprised. Like this is a regular event in her household. In her lair? You suppose that’s what it is. You pull off the stolen sneakers that don’t quite fit and send them through the portals, right above an empty spot on the rack. 

“You’re badass,” Camille says, once she’s gotten her composure back. You shrug. “Deidre, tell this babe she’s a badass.” 

“You’re a badass,” they say, rolling their eyes. “And it’s Dee. Camille only calls me that when she’s being overdramatic.” 

You nod, distracted again by the headband. By their flushed face and their oddly proportioned body. You thought they were one of the monsters because of the horns, but now it's their proportions that's making you wonder. Too long arms? Not long enough body? Could it be natural?

“Fix the lair,” Heavensent reiterates, when she sees you've gotten distracted. “Then we can do introductions and explanations.”


	4. She’ll 1.4

Five people are in a roughly circular arrangement inside what Heavensent calls the war room, yourself included.

There are two large maps with dozens of figurines on each of them. One of the maps is of this city, and it’s a close model, with buildings and land masses rising up. The texture of the other is similar, but there aren’t any buildings, and when you run your fingers across what should be corresponding ground, there are unmistakable differences. To confirm, you set your portals small, one hand on what should be identical points in both versions of Savannah. 

You remember hearing some noise about other worlds and portals. Is it real? You can’t imagine it. And that’s supposed to be Brockton Bay, isn’t it? 

Camille sits in a cushy chair, legs beneath her. Her skirt is longer now, wider and less restrictive. Maxi, you identify. Same colors. She turned her shirts into a tank top, but she’d added black and white striped gloves with the mass of the long sleeves. At least, that’s what you assume she did. Maybe she just changed. A half mask, similar in style to Heavensent’s, covers her blind eye. She is illuminated with a yellow glow from the multifaceted chandelier above the room. She tosses a crumpled ball of plastic bags between her hands, studying you.

You’re standing in front of the doorframe. There are six sections of the room, and by staying in the sixth— the exit— you’re unbalancing the room. But the unlit corner with a block of some material you can’t identify is intimidating. 

Heavensent is perfectly poised on what you can only describe as a throne. White fabric, golden edges with angel wing designs. She wears the same outfit as before and is in the dead center of the room, with Dee and Camille on her left and the final member of this group directly to her right. 

You notice Dee’s unusual proportions are gone. Now they’re somewhere in height between Camille— the shortest— and you— the tallest, if you stop slouching. Their lightning is a light purple, not pink enough for lavender. They wear a small shawl, connected with well hidden Velcro at their neck. Above the connection is a purple bow tie. The fabric approaches translucent, but layers make it hard to see through. Under it is a black tank top, slightly too bulky to be as formfitting as it looks like it is supposed to be. Armor? They wear gloves as well, though theirs are plain black and fingerless, and on their feet, they have simple combat boots. Their chair seems like it’d belong at an office, with its serviceable construction and wheel, and they don’t sit, opting to leave it near the back of their area next to a desk covered in bottles and boxes. 

The fourth one is in teal light, sitting cross legged on top of what seems like a filing cabinet. 

“Egg?” Camille asks, bring your focus back to her and her eyes. Sharp. Brown. 

“Yeah,” you say, unsure of what she means. 

“I asked if you want a chair?” 

“Oh. I guess.”

“What kind?” 

You shrug. 

“Alright, I’ll just make something I think is cool and you can tell me if you want any changes.” 

You shrug again. 

She walks around the edges after leaving the material she was toying with behind; the changing light reflects on the whites of her costumes. 

“Would dark magenta be acceptable for your costume?” Heavensent asks, while Camille puts her hands against the block of... something. It morphs into a small sofa, with layers of blankets.

You shrug. She keeps looking at you, waiting for a response as if what you gave was inadequate. 

“Yeah. It’s fine.” 

Heavensent presses a button on the side of the throne, and your area lights up. You move to take the seat Camille made once she steps away.

“Thank you,” you add. She gives you a thumbs up. 

“Okay, awkward silence the fuck over now,” Camille proclaims, “Hello, new girl. Babe. Egg. I‘m Camille, or Carmilla like this.”

“Sounds similar.”

“I like the mill sound.” 

You think it might be a joke. 

“Powers?” 

“You’ve already seen it. I turn stuff into other stuff. It’s pretty fucking wide reaching, and I’ve got some Thinkering going on too, which means I can make complicated drugs ‘n shit.” 

“Like hormones?” 

“I’ve been supplying a couple of the neighborhood punks with testosterone, though correct me if I’m wrong: you seem the type to go the other way?” 

It’s like she’s trying to unsettle you. You nod.

“And she’s not a vampire, no matter how many times she turns her braces into fangs,” Dee adds. “Carmilla introduced my civilian name earlier, but like this, I’m Venus. I’m a changer- shapeshifter. I take on some of the qualities of what I eat and I can eat most anything. We’ve been... experimenting on that front.”

“Hence my furniture,” Heavensent frowns.

“It tasted delicious as confetti,” they proclaim, and you switch gears in your head. Venus. “Anyway, our boss here—“ 

“Is not a boss,” Carmilla interrupts. “She said we weren’t doing the fucking boss thing.” 

"She’s right,” Heavensent says, with a tone that makes you think this is a point of contention. “And I will introduce myself, if you do not mind?” 

“It’s good.” 

“I am Heavensent. Or Molly Chernov, when I’m out of costume.” She switches tone again, and you feel that whiplash again. “I can control those suits of armor by the door and fuck with my voice by messing with them. I also see through them.” 

“And they’re real, not projections. I used the toughest shit I know, which is pretty much the toughest shit on this planet, barring some fancy Tinker cheating bullcrap. Inventor types, like Dragon.” 

She adds the last bit for you. You nod. You do know that much.

You look up to the fourth person. 

“Asmodai slash Kitty,” Carmilla says about them. Their hood shadows most of their face but parts of their mask come out of it, like cat ears, and it’s the same style as the others.

Then you catch their eyes, beneath the mask and the hood. 

And you remember.

You remember the past few days and the dizziness of moving too fast. You remember the acute sensation of understanding your body in detail, the squirming feeling of something in your guts. Like worms. Like big worms. Like vast ones, incomprehensible, crystalline. Strands of DNA.

But that’s not you, and it slips away without a fight.

What’s you is someone seeing you. Knowing you. Touching you. Making assumptions. 

Holding you tight enough for bruises. You still have those bruises, underneath the heavy layers of fabric. The words in your ears, telling you how you feel, how you’re supposed to feel, are intrusive, and you hear them. You hear them like she’s right here beside you, and her touches are a reminder of how sharp your body is. You never get to breathe softly. 

Even now. 

You feel apology from Asmodai, almost in a specific tone. If they have words... Their voice is lower than you would’ve assumed, and only after you process that it’s them do you they spoke in your head, rather than out loud. They needed to check you weren’t Cauldron. 

You don’t even need to think the words.

“No, you shouldn’t know about them. Secret society of bastards,” Carmilla fills in. She speaks out loud, but she hears your thoughts.

Other thoughts come into your head. A fucked up Eidolon. A monster of flesh, like an Endbringer but not. She wasn’t, you’re certain. You hear a villain speak, confident. Portals. That thought connects to the next— the other world. 

The next one isn’t real. An imagination. The...texture is different, in a way that’s impossible to put into words, and you know you’re seeing a dream of Molly’s from the domes. The arches of the city are tall, looping, and the bridges across streets carrying people of all sorts in dresses loom with gothic elegance. In the shadows, the landscape melts into Camille’s idle thoughts. It’s darker, but the streets are still filled. Less silent. People talk, and they hold hands, and they’re all girls. They’re kind and well fed, satisfied, safe, with walls above their heads, and the rest of the team— excluding you, because you just arrived and she hasn’t had time to work you into her fantasies— stands among everyone. Not worshipped. Not feared. But understood. 

When the time came, as Kitty knows, they’ll fight. Cauldron with its rows of strange bottles and faces you don’t recognize is a threat. The apocalypse, which Dee’s fears paint vividly in dozens of different ways, looms. But there could be an ending like this.

You weave yourself into the scene, thoughts running wild. You see yourself softer, under layers of fabric, and although you can’t usually imagine with such vivid colors, the dark magenta stands out. A mask on your face, with a chicken feather. Gloves. Boots. Pale blue and pink and white bands on your wrists. Your curly sandy brown hair is long, untied, and it bounces up and down. 

You realize you’re smiling. 

“You really want a group identity, huh,” Venus says. You nod. “You sure it should be us?” 

You’re pretty sure they shouldn’t be.

“Yeah,” you say. 

You feel a sense of accusation from Asmodai, mixed with amusement. 

“They’re a Case 53,” Carmilla clarifies. “No mouth.” 

They lean into the light, and you can tell they breathe with the unusual layers of skin hanging off the side of their chest. Their hoodie cuts off above the layers. The colors, the textures remind you of raw meat. 

You can’t disguise your disgust from them. They understand you. You feel them back. Used to it. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

You get the idea that you didn’t need to say it twice. That they already heard you.

“It’s hard to get used to,” Venus says out loud, and you feel their gentle reminder to Asmodai inside your skull. That you’re new. 

“I’m still not used to it,” Carmilla adds, but it’s a lie. “Oh, fuck you, I was trying to commiserate with the new babe.” 

And she’s sincere about that.

You step back.

“Okay, that is enough,” Heavensent says. “Asmodai.” 

Your mind is your own again. It’s a relief, even as you miss understanding the unflappably still Asmodai’s feelings. 

“I still don’t think I understand.”

“We have a portal to another world in the basement. We’re gonna build something fucking awesome there and then protect it through the end of the world.”

“You said that before. Apocalypse. Armageddon.” 

You’re not a believer, but you went to enough services to know the basics. Despite the fact you spent most of those services trying hard not to listen. To crawl away. To hide inside your own skin. 

“It has been prophesied,” Heavensent intones, ominously, and Asmodai gestures. Carmilla shakes her head.

“Prophecy makes it sound cryptic as fuck. The precog who said it got tested about, oh, fifteen fucking hundred different ways and everyone agrees she’s not shitting us. The numbers fluctuate, but always in the nineties, and even if it’s not in two years, it’ll still happen.” 

“I don’t think I like this world very much,” you begin, careful. You always phrase things carefully. “But I like parts of it.”

“Great, make a list of the parts you like and we’ll be sure to add them to Eden slash Avalon slash Arcadia slash Elysium slash Rapture slash Earth Q.” 

You didn’t expect her to take you that seriously. You didn’t mean things to take with you. You meant... 

“Isn’t here worth saving?”

“It’s impossible,” Venus says, a designed expression in their dark eyes beneath their mask. “We can bring up to about a couple hundred people with us to any settlement within a reasonable traveling distance on the planet before the odds whatever causes this world to end targets that ours start getting absurdly high.” 

“But...”

“We can limit the damage by preparing in advance. Almost certainly two years to set things in motion. Fourteen, if fortune favors us,” Heavensent declares, and it’s final. You close your mouth to consider things. You weren’t lying or exaggerating when you said you didn’t like this world. It‘s loud. It drags you into the light and into the cold when all you want is to hide in the comfort of the shadows or the creases of fabric. 

Another world. A second chance. 

But there has to be a catch. You’re already on board— you have to be, this is a debt you’re paying— but you need to know the catch before it drags you into hell without your knowing.

You’d rather know the course. 

“Why do you need my help? Why do you need anyone outside of Carmilla?“

“A number of reasons. One—“ she lifts up a finger— “The more eyes on the new society, the more problems will become recognizable before they become unmanageable. Two. I am a villain. I can not prepare for this exodus with the assistance of the law, so I must rely on those I can trust. Those I have vetted, such as Asmodai or Carmilla, and those who Asmodai themself has vetted, such as you and Venus. Three. Others will try to take our world from us. We will need to fortify it.” 

“And we need to actually own the fucking land around here. Get the rest of the villains outta the neighborhood, if not town,” Carmilla proclaims.

“Not town,” Heavensent says, and it sounds like a reminder.

“Come on, the Undersiders did it,” Carmilla complains, but you don’t think she’s fighting as hard as she could be. You realize you’re understanding more than you should and glance towards Asmodai. They’d be grinning at you, if they had a mouth. Their power lets you communicate with concepts deeper than words. 

“The Undersiders had more experience, more contacts, and more resources. The kind of resource you can’t make. And their city was weakened by other villains and Leviathan before they made their move. We’re not them. Besides, we’ll have a whole world to ourself. Much better than a city.” 

An entire world.

“I suppose,” Carmilla says, too easily swayed by Venus’s arguments for the comment to have been anything other than a joke. “But we are starting now, aren’t we?”

“We are,” Heavensent says. A smile in her words. “But first, Egg?” 

“Me?” It takes you a second. “Oh. I’m Egg. No normal name yet. Two portals. Invisible to most others. I can move them around.”

“Do you know if you can open them through video footage?” Venus asks.

You never considered it. You shrug. 

“Then let’s find out,” they say.


	5. Shell 1.5

“You’re sure it’s okay I keep my name?” you ask as Carmilla looks over the loose drawings. You did them in a rush, but she’s impressed. 

You feel the admiration for it as she extends her emotions towards you, Asmodai’s power bridging the normal divide between consciousnesses. It’s not everything all at once, not always. Once you understood you could control how much you sent, you felt much safer with their presence. They’d established the limits of the bond in the first connection. You could feel their honesty. Knew it wasn’t a lie, that they couldn’t lie, but only after the issue was already raised in your own thoughts. It was safe.

The two of you are in her room. Posters of various capes are spread across her wall, annotated with sarcastic comments, but those are far and few between in comparison to the polaroid photos of what seem to be random objects. A canon. A complicated grandfather clock. Dozens of suits of armor from what you assume is the medieval era. 

You run a finger over the different kinds of fabric swatches she’d pinned right above the desk and see the camera she must have used to take the polaroid shots with the other end of the desk your drawings were on.

You go back to the posters. They’re well made, glossy, but they don’t seem… right. Not the sort of picture any publicity minded individual would make into merchandise. Pictures of some of the strongest heroes, the ones even you recognize, mid fight, partially beat up. Some villains too, looking triumphant. At least, you assume they’re villains. Asmodai’s power affirms you. Not the worst of the worst, not killers, but they don’t abide by the law and aren’t above hurting people. 

The bed is pushed into the wall, in an alcove. The colors of the room are black and white and yellow, but when Carmilla touches the wall, casual, all the yellows shift to pinks. Casually. She’s so powerful, you think, and you’re embarrassed by your simple portals. She doesn’t say anything, understanding that you don’t want to be corrected even as you feel her want to. 

“Yeah, no, it’s fucking great. Heavensent originally wanted the team’s aesthetic to be all rapture and angels and shit, but Asmodai and I conspired to mess with them. Carmilla’s the name of a lesbian vampire romance bee tee doubs.” 

“Bee tee...” you trail off, before the words fill out from the connection. By the way. “Oh.“

 _Carmilla_ ’s not a romance, you consider adding, before you understand that she knows perfectly well. She’s daring you to challenge her. By staying quiet— radiating smugness— you win. It makes you want to step back or hide in the fabric, but you don’t.

“So Venus was like, yeah, alright I’ll pick a related name. The planet’s sometimes called the Morningstar. They’re a fucking poetic. But like, yeah, there’s not much of a coherent theme. You don’t need to stick with the mask style and gloves.” 

“I like it,” you shrug. She nods, as if that’s enough. For her, it is.

“This might be a bit hot,” she warns. 

“I haven’t felt temperatures much since...” 

You trail off.

“Powers,” Carmilla finishes. “No, I get it. I don’t sleep much. Heavensent barely eats unless she thinks someone’s paying attention.” 

“Like at fancy events.”

She nods. 

You feel Heavensent’s awareness of your targets wash over you. No, not wash. Like an old memory triggered by a sensory detail, brought to the forefront of your mind. An office for a “charitable” religious association that offers resources to the homeless, so long as those homeless are cis and straight. One of their donors is a local corporate team. Chance that one of those capes might show up? 87.2% at least one does. 

“Sweet fucking yes!” Carmilla says, slamming her fist against the desk with your doodles, before carefully moving them out of the way and hitting it again. “God, those bastards.” 

You feel her wondering if certain faces— she doesn’t have the names— will be at the office. A pause — Heavensent is checking. Low odds, even when asking for “any of them.” The information comes from the same precognitive who predicted the apocalypse, and she’s good. Reliable. 

Personal?

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t want to talk about it. This sounds heroic to you, fighting people who’d turn anyone out into the cold, but you can’t articulate what you mean. The thought makes her laugh, but it’s a humorless one that doesn’t reach her eyes. 

“No. It’s more or less legal. If anyone has a problem, they sue the giant, well-funded, company. Maybe they get some cash compensation if they’re lucky. Nothing changes.” 

You don’t think breaking, entering, and breaking some more will change things either.

“Yeah, but it’ll be fun. And it might get us some action against the weakest cape crew in the city. A test run. Low stakes.” 

You wonder about the other crews.

“Different jurisdiction.”

After a few minutes of silence as you feel Heavensent’s side of the negotiations with the mercenary precog, you receive the answer to your unspoken question: 4.131% chance someone else shows up. Venus wonders if Heavensent is relying on her too much, but she says she’s only doing this for the first three jobs and then anything against any high Class threats that come to town. 

That alarms you. Will any? 

Endbringers and the like fog her vision. The Nine are quiet, and she knows enough details about why to say they won’t be a concern, and the others are far away or immobile. You’ll have warnings if they come your ways. 

Uneasy. Why can’t she see?

You close your eyes. The girl on the other side of the video call isn’t just short. She’s a child. Signs of malnutrition, Carmilla’s power adds, informed by the far too small clothes hanging off her. Her face is concealed, but it’s a matter of custom. 

Dinah Alcott’s identity is known to the PRT at large and what’s known to the PRT finds its way to villains. 

“She’s recovering from something a Brockton Bay cape did to her,” Carmilla tells you with her words. “Not the other mercenaries.” 

You’re not sure why these people use words when they could think the ideas to each other and vice versa. It’s easy to slip into just this. 

“Too easy to get stuck that way. I do the grocery shopping and other mundane shit, so I have to be basically functional. Heavensent gets to be weird because she handles the cape shit.”

By ‘grocery shopping,’ she means her civilian job as a garbageman. Instead of taking pay in money, she takes it in the thickest bags of trash, bribing her coworkers to stay quiet with their fucking hearts’ desires in material goods. 

You wonder if you should try to stop relying on it. It’s not that you’re even intentionally projecting all of this. Your thoughts are so much longer, so much more complicated and nuanced than anything you can say with your words, and you don’t _like _talking.__

__“I don’t think it’ll be a problem, but keep it in mind.”_ _

__You nod. Acknowledgement shared._ _

__“Yeah,” you say out loud, even if it feels like repeating yourself. “I will.”_ _

__You stand there, as painfully aware of how Carmilla positions her limbs as you are of how you do yours. Her shirt sticks tight to her skin, emphasizing her curves. She picks up the doodles again, and then moves to reach for the piles of garbage._ _

__Elsewhere, Heavensent cuts the call with Faultline’s crew and scrolls down to a file that she’d bought from a different group. Ambassadors, she adds, though you don’t really have any knowledge of them. And then, before she offers an explanation, you express apathy. You don’t need to know the details on every single cape group right away._ _

__Just the relevant ones._ _

__Just this one, with the five capes that may or may not show._ _

__—  
It turns out that you can open your portals into videos, but not photographs. It makes sense, and Carmilla works two video feeds into your costume, a different location on both of your arms that you can move to look at easily. One is to the lair. You tried to open one past the portal to Eden slash Avalon slash Arcadia slash Elysium slash Rapture slash Earth Q, but you couldn't, even just standing in front of it. You also couldn't open one in a livestreamed video in Australia. The other video feed links to a small camera that will be hooked to your waist, easy for you to grab._ _

__The mask doesn’t disrupt your peripheral vision like you thought it might. It’s tight to your face, but not uncomfortable. Carmilla smiles at you aggressively, and you can’t keep looking at her. Even as you know she’s still doing it through Asmodai’s power._ _

__You stand in the street while the others are a few blocks away, second portal open behind you. The first is near them. Your awareness of them transmits easily, in a way that’s not quite vision but perfectly clear.Carmilla holds the camera, and you close the first one, reopening it atop the building you stand beneath, stepping through. You stumble ever so slightly, aim off, and your heart skips a beat. You move the second one to the top of the short office building the target, walking through and stumbling again. Then you look through the video from the camera Carmilla holds, open the first one there and they follow._ _

__These portals are big. You don’t know how big they can get; you haven’t tried making them any bigger than a really tall person. They step through one by one, Asmodai first and Heavensent last._ _

__In the middle, it’s Carmilla and then Venus. Carmilla hands you the camera, and you tuck it into your belt. She crouches, carefully, fingertips against the roof’s pavement._ _

__A perfect circle of glitter falls. Carmilla’s fingers aren’t in the middle, just at the closest edge. They spray across the computers in the office bellow. She turns to you._ _

__First portal on the ground beneath you, a perfect circle just like Carmilla’s. Second through the hole, onto the wall._ _

__You move through, jumping._ _

__Stumble. Change in direction. Awkward._ _

__You feel their eyes on you, and you fail the practiced landing, the practiced shift with rather than against the direction. Your face burns, and it’s worse that they know how you feel. You pull back from the network before they express how everyone messes up. You don’t need pity._ _

__It’s a painful moment, and you adjust the portal, making it stand vertical. Making the angles match._ _

__They pass through in the same order as before. Asmodai takes a seat on a desk, pushing a computer to the ground like a cat. They want the feline imagery, you understand. Something about them being better than people? Their civilian name strikes you as remarkably on the nose, and as you think that, they shake their head. Picked their own civilian name too._ _

__You’ll think about that later. Or maybe not at all. Probably the latter— the monstrous cape likes making you uncomfortable. Likes making people in general uncomfortable._ _

__Once Heavensent’s knights are through, carbon body parts not quiet but not loud either, you close the portals. No point in leaving them open._ _

__“So now we wait,” Venus says, leaning against a wall. Asmodai wants to wreck the place in the mean time, Carmilla is in full agreement, and Heavensent isn’t sure about what you’re going to do now._ _

__“We intend to make our presence known,” she declares and looks around at the room. Venus hits the light switch. Asmodai’s shoulders move up and down, like they’re laughing. No sound, even as the organs at what should be their stomach jitter._ _

__“You really shoulda had more faith in us, Heavs,” Carmilla says. “What were you expecting, the fucking Triumvirate guarding a middle of no where office building?”_ _

__“I was being prepared. And no nicknames. It’s unprofessional.”_ _

__Asmodai would snort if they could. Professionalism isn’t on the table for any of you. If Heavensent wanted that, she should’ve stayed with the mercenary work._ _

__“I was concerned about our safety, and I feel vindicated. We have not fully implemented all of the procedures I set out.”_ _

__“Cameras,” you interrupt. Pointing. You always feel eyes on you, eyes you want to redirect._ _

__“Very well. Carmilla? Egg?”_ _

__You open a portal on the ground, then the other right next to the camera you can see. Carmilla reaches through, unsure of what to turn it into. Asmodai suggests egg shells, and she rolls her eyes, but does it anyway._ _

__Asmodai pushes another computer off of the desk._ _

__“Let us not do too much damage. This is a lesson, an announcement, and an invitation.”_ _

__“They’ll get great PR outta this shit anyway. Lots of donations,” Carmilla shrugs. “Being attacked by a group of feral lesbians and Venus does that to you.”_ _

__“You say that like I’m not equally feral.”_ _

__Carmilla rolls her eyes._ _


	6. Shell 1.6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some canon typical violence this chapter.

It’s a relief when the heroes finally show up. Conflict is something you understand, at least more than this.

The fire alarm stops suddenly, in the middle of a long beep, and everyone in the room halts with it. Carmilla pulls her hand away from the wall, where she was writing, turning parts of the wall into glitter and leaving gouges in the shape of letters. The lights shut off all the way, instead of flickering. 

You all move into a formation. Heavensent in the middle of a V with her knights on the far ends. Asmodai and Carmilla next to her, you and Venus next to them. 

Venus muses, wondering if they want low visibility or if they’re worried the flickering was a sign that you were using the power of the building for some Tinker device. The later, probably, Asmodai thinks. 

Carmilla turns a computer into a battery powered lamp, just in case. They come through the one door that Carmilla left, narrower than it was before. Two enemies, one by one. Confident, even though they’re outnumbered. 

You recognize them from the files Heavensent was looking through. The first one is Patience, and despite the name, she’s moving her weight from one foot to the other, antsy. Ready to fight. One moment, she isn’t there, and then she is. It looks like teleportation, but she’s really stopping time for up to fifteen seconds on her strongest days and moving around while everyone else is defenseless. She’s been doing this for some time. Veteran of an Endbringer attack. One of the bad ones, where casaulties were high. Impressive. 

Her dark braided hair thumps up and down against her bag, and a plain black domino mask conceals her face. Dark blue eyes. Eerie, but pretty. Black, purple, and white. 

The second is Windyhawk, with her silver hair cut into a cute bob. She got powers in the middle of the bird name trend, before they started to be recognized as kinda uncool. A while back, then, though neither of those are your additions. You didn’t even know bird names were a thing among capes and start to feel self conscious about Egg. Is it too close? Carmilla shakes her head. 

Both of their costume have wing designs on their back, though neither are more than costume flourishes. 

“Hi,” you say, as the two of them stare the five of you down. 

“What are you guys doing?” Windyhawk asks. 

“Offering a donation. Jesus, what the fuck does it look like?” Carmilla asks, rheotorically. 

“This is a charity,” Patience says, stepping forward. No powers. Around her belt are a dozen flash grenades. Her skirt tutu flares out, bouncing up and down with her movements. “Why?” 

“Because they’re homophobic as fuck.” 

“So you decided to attack them in the middle of the night?” she asks. 

“More or less,” Heavensent interjects, cutting Carmilla's rant off. She would've gone on for a while otherwise. “I am Heavensent. This is Carmilla, Asmodai, Egg, and Venus.” 

Venus feels awkward, and they’re not the only one. You consider opening a portal back to the base and dragging everyone with you. You don’t really need to fight, do you? Asmodai waves. 

“In the name of the law—“ Patience begins. 

“And cash,” Carmilla adds. “And being a fucking weeb.” 

Patience grits her teeth. You wonder if there are reinforcements coming or if it’s just them. 

“In the name of the law,” she repeats herself, “and justice, we’ll take you down.” 

You think that’s a stupid line. Is this the first time she’s saying it? 

No, it’s something that’s on all her merchandise. But that’s not something to pay attention to now, because they’re starting. 

Patience is already behind you, and you hear the sound of a flash grenade beginning to detonate. Carmilla hits her mask, turning it into a thick blindfold, and reaches out. You open your portals, letting her touch yours too, just in time, but that’s only enough to shield you from the light. 

You didn’t realize it’d be so loud, and neither did Venus or Carmilla. It leaves everyone but Heavensent, who sealed her own senses off in order to control her knights.

“Goddamnit,” Carmilla swears, and you think you hear her twice, as she spins around and reaches for anything, not sure what to make.

Blind, but aware of the world. You reach up to tug the fabric off, but Heavensent warns you to wait. Patience could lob another one at anytime. She’s got a dozen. 

Without your vision, you can’t open portals. You’re useless— no, you have your mind. Powers aren’t everything. It’s a shaky confidence that isn’t even yours, but you nod assent. Focus.

Windyhawk’s body melts into waves of polluted air that dissipate across the room just as the first of Heavensent’s knights hits her with a sword too big for any human to feasibly wield, and your not-sight can’t keep track of her. Breaker form. Can’t stay that way forever or her pieces will get too far apart. Consequences. 

But you can’t help without your vision, and Patience could lob another flash grenade at any time. Venus and Asmodai’s eyes are still seeing spots, and all your bodies are shaken. 

Carmilla turns another monitor into something that measures wind currents— her Thinker power can’t be shared in its entirety, only what her normal mind can articulate about it— and you pull off the blindfold just long enough to open a portal beneath it into the air directly above Venus’s gaping open maw. 

Patience is there first, batting the sensor out of the air to the ground, and the second knight grabs at as you tug the blindfold back into place. One of Windyhawk’s hands manifests from the air next to your ear, yanking it off, and you twist your head, opening the first portal right in front of the disembodied body part and the second one outside the glass window. Not far enough to maim her for good, that’d be opening the portal to the base several miles away, but it’s out of the fight for a few couple minutes as she draws it back.

You close your eyes and bring your hands up to your face right as Patience appears a few steps back, flash grenade already smoking. 

The force blows you backwards, into another countertop, and you scream. The back of your arms— it’s like you touched a hot stove, except that stove shoved you backwards and that stove screamed louder than anything you’ve heard before, even though you always been your headphones at volumes higher than recommended.

It’s not a good analogy, and it’s almost funny how involved it is, considering your situation. What if you guys lose this fight? 

You keep blinking, desperate to get the stars out of your eyes and the tears that start filling them isn’t from the pain, even as Windyhawk’s foot catches you right in the gut, pushing you harder into the counter before you can see clearly again, vanishing before either knight reaches it.

Your hand is bloody, you realize as you bring it back up to your face. 

Your face is exposed, you realize afterwards. The mask, which Carmilla made into a blindfold...

Carmilla hears your concern and grabs a computer mouse in one hand, recreating your mask but with sunglasses instead of eye slits and tossing it towards you.

Patience grabs it out of the air, but Asmodai catches her eyes and communicates that not letting you mask yourself would be seen as trying to expose her secret identity before cutting her out of the network.

“What...” she mutters, disorientated for a moment, before you feel her hands finishing tying the mask back around your head. You wait for her to finish, stepping back and turning towards the knight with a shield, before you open a portal beneath her and then through the hole in the roof. 

She catches the edge of the hole before she slams into the ground, the gravity still enough to make her let out a sound of pain and grab at her shoulder. You worry you put her too high up and are about to offer help when Heavensent assures you that heroes, especially corporate ones as well connected as the Savannah Angels.

Putting the thoughts into words for you distracts her from manipulating the knights, and she was already barely fast enough to respond to all the different pieces appearing and disappearing. Windyhawk’s remaining armored hand drags against the exposed skin on her cheek. Claws. 

You push a portal right in front of the hand from your vulnerable, but it vanishes before you can catch her. Patience appears, already on her feet, and right in front of Venus, right as Carmilla hits the ground, turning the area beneath her into some sort of quick drying glue. Not fast enough to trap Patience, but it sticks to her boots and, when she appears again, she’s breathing faster, clutching her arm, and trying not to stay in one spot for long enough. She’s too distracted to hit Venus, either with a grenade or with her fists, and Carmilla makes another sensor, which she tosses into the air. 

You open your portals, dropping it towards Venus’s mouth, right before Windyhawk’s teeth manifest. It’s more than a bit disturbing to see her split like that, and Asmodai’s mental smirk tells you that you’ll need a stronger stuff to handle cape stuff. Pictures of the fleshy monster from Brokton Bay and all its twisted clones distract you, and you nearly vomit onto the pair of legs that appear above you, trapping you against the ruined counter.

You were so busy trying to track everything that you didn’t manage to pull yourself to your feet.

An arm catches Heavensent in a choke hold, and when the knight with the sword swings its weapon at the body part, it disappears into the air. You feel the pressure tighten around your own body. How can she be so strong without leverage? 

Patience appears behind Carmilla, yanking her arm back too quickly, and you can’t open a portal in between the two of them if they’re so close. The hand you sent away is back, and that part of Windyhawk is right in front of Asmodai’s eyes, pointed. You think you’ve lost and are about to despair when you feel Venus’s incongruous triumph. 

They stand close to a section of distorted air too big to be one limb or another, dropping an empty bottle from a pocket you didn’t realize was sewn beneath their shawl onto the ground, and you feel the sudden cold even from across the room. Even in the mild summer night air. It’s Windyhawk’s chest. Where their organs are, and the air around them… it’s not just cold. It’s turning to _liquid_ , but Venus doesn’t seem cold at all. 

“Patience, release Carmilla,” Venus commands. 

She does. 

“Windyhawk, release my teammates,” they continue. 

And she does, the separate pieces of her body moving towards a central point away from all of you, forming a strange outline of a body that’s missing its chest. 

They want a portal home now. For everyone, except for them. You need to leave a camera and open a separate portal into the Vault just a bit later. You nod. 

Their room is sealed against as many different kinds of hazardous materials as Carmilla can imagine. What are they made of now? What did they have in that bottle? 

The air isn’t just cold. But before you open a portal for them to the vault, you should make one for the heroes. To the roof of the building you first opened a portal onto. Just to be safe. You nod, acknowledgement registering twice. 

Liquid air. Negative one hundred and ninety degrees Celsius. Negative three hundred and ten degrees Fahrenheit. Eighty three degrees Kelvin. You should hurry. Carmilla knows what it is. It’s not going to be safe for Windyhawk to transform back if she’s exposed to it for too long. 

“Get somewhere warm after this, fast,” Carmilla warns. Patience nods quickly.

You put the cameras down and open the portals.


End file.
